Praha

“Got a light?”
I obliged, praying I appeared suave as I brought the lighter to life and scorched the end of her cigarette. Her green eyes met mine for a moment, troubling me. I felt myself a good judge of people, but her gaze was indecipherable.
“Thanks.” She blew out a large cloud of smoke. “So, how are you enjoying Prague?”
“It’s a beautiful city,” I remarked as I lit my own. And it was. The architecture was stunning, the streets were clean, the history and culture oozed out of each brick and stone. “And the beer is cheap.”
Her lips curled upwards. “That it is. And good, too. Not as good as German beer of course, but…” she gave me a coy look.
I snorted. “Oh, of course. What could be better than German beer?” I had less discerning tastes; the best beer at home was swill compared to here.
“I’m sorry there’s no Bud Light for you,” she told me. “I’m sure you must miss it.”
“Well, you can’t have it all.”
“You know you can smoke inside, right?” she asked, smirking. She had followed me out here into the warm night, a cat not showing affection, yet wanting it all the same.
“I know, but it feels so… wrong. Also, I needed some fresh air.”
“Do you ever wonder how many people are doing the same thing as us?” She looked across the narrow street, a gentle Prague breeze coaxing her raven hair towards me; or perhaps me towards her raven hair.
“You mean smoking outside a bar late at night?”
“No, I mean more… how many people are in our same situation, or will be later, or have been earlier today. Everything you experience isn’t all that special. It’s been experienced before.”
I frowned. “That’s a dark way to think. This isn’t the first time a guy and girl have stood outside a bar and talked, but it’s the first time you and I have.”
Jade eyes hit me and a dark eyebrow drew upward. “Is that supposed to make this special?” This kitten had claws, but a hint of a smirk on thin lips soothed the scratch.
“This will be as special as you want it to be.” I exhaled smoke through my smile. “But, okay, I imagine it’s all been done before, if you reduce everything like that.”
“Doesn’t that depress you? To realize that nothing you ever do will truly be new?” I couldn’t decipher the emotions in her eyes.
“But it would be new to me. This is new to me,” I told her, gesturing to the tall buildings on Dlouha street. “Why should I care if someone else has experienced what I have?”
“Selfish.” She turned away; smoke curled upwards and caressed her pale cheek. “I just… we never do anything new.”
“What about inventing a new technology? Or curing a disease?” I pressed on.
“Sure, but it’s still inventing or creating, something we humans always do, and always have done.” Her eyes challenged mine. “Say someone cures cancer. That’s great, then their name gets added to that long list of ‘ground-breaking inventions’. Electricity, insulin, whatever. That’s it.”
I saw the logic in that, but I couldn’t believe there was no value in creation. “I suppose it’s like that. But why reduce things to their base concepts? We’re more evolved than that.”
She snorted. “Please. We’re animals, no matter how much we want to deny it sometimes. We all have those… base desires.” Her eyes flashed me a look that excited a base desire within me. “Besides, sometimes it’s easier to go back to the basics.”
Her words had merit, but the alcohol in my system, while not copious, left me unable to render a rational argument. She chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first one who’ve I’ve left speechless.”
I didn’t doubt that. “I’ve never considered things from that point of view.”
“And how do they make you feel?” Yellow lights shone on her tilted face and lazy expression. My feelings about her words fled for a moment as I drank in this sultry sight.
I looked up towards the dark sky. “Insignificant. And so, instead of feeling insignificant, I will continue to tell myself that the new things I do are new, and thus keep my sanity.” I smirked as she laughed, throwing her head back.
“That’s the most honest answer I’ve ever received.” A strand of her hair fell awry, and I had to stop myself from brushing it back into place. “We can talk philosophy later.”
“How much later?” I asked.
“Why did you come to Prague?” A new game was starting. The smoke flowing from her scarlet lips cast a tantalizing haze over her face, a curtain I wanted to draw back.
“I wanted to get away for a bit.”
“Why did you need to get away? Looking for something new? Running away from problems?” Her eyes dug into mine, trying to unlock my secrets, but I’m no mouse.
A casual shrug before I said, “Just needed a change of scenery, I suppose. Always the same old back home.”
“And why come alone? Don’t you have any friends?” she teased, an eyebrow shooting upward. Girlfriend? It asked.
“I thought it would be better to travel by myself. I’ve never gone somewhere on my own, so I figured why not now? No time like the present.” My cigarette fell to the sidewalk, smoke eking out of it. She looked at it, then looked away with pursed lips. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, um… could you put that out? I get…” she trailed off, searching for the right word. I grinned and stomped on it. “Thanks. It’s… a thing I have.”
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone’s got their thing.” A memory flashed into my head of my friend lighting the whole ashtray with a cigarette, which made me bark a laugh, and made her turn from kitten to tiger. I explained the story.
“See? You should always extinguish them well.” She spoke English like a native, but she stumbled on that word. “Extinguish? Ex-tin-guish.” She looked pensive as she practiced the word.
I watched a car turtle down the street to stifle my laughter.
“Ex…tinguish?” She reminded me of an owl with the quizzical expression and tilted head.
“You got it,” I managed.
“English is hard. And stupid!” I prepared myself for the tirade that all foreigners gave about the English language: how difficult it was, how it made no sense, blah blah blah. But she kept it short. “I wish it was my native language sometimes.”
“Don’t. It’s way harder to learn a second language if English is your first.”
“Why?”
“Everyone speaks English. There’s no real need to learn another language if you know English, so it’s that much harder to find the desire to learn another one.”
“I guess… and I suppose you don’t have need for another language over there in America.” She said this with the slightest twitch of her lip.
“Now you listen here, woman,” I began, but stopped as she giggled. Her laugh was a joyous contrast from the dark topic of before. “America and Canada are very different.”
“Mm, right. So different.” It was obnoxious the way she dragged out that so. She smiled, a different smile than the other ones tonight. This one was… warm, inviting. A trick of the light? I caught myself smiling back and drawing closer.
A group of people left the bar and cut in between us, laughing with one another. I watched them with irritated eyes. “Looks like we were in the way.”
“Mm.” She pulled out another cigarette and looked at me with an immaculate eyebrow raised.
“Can I help you?” I offered.
She cleared her throat and shook the cigarette in her fingers. “I, uh, could use a light.”
I didn’t move.
“Ugh, please?”
It was less of a request and more of a spit, but I indulged her.
“You Americans and your manners,” she muttered, at which point I withdrew, leaving her cigarette unlit. “No, no, I’m sorry!” Her hand shot out and grasped mine, a soft hand, dark blue nail polish glinting in the light.
I relented with a grin.
“Thank you so much,” she said in a childish, reciting manner.
“Please, don’t be so heartfelt,” I commented, lighting one of my own. “Ah, man. I’m gonna miss Prague.”
“I know. Me too.” She stepped closer, looking up at me with a smile. “Don’t want to go in?”
“Not yet,” I breathed. I had stepped closer to her, closer to her mischievous face and shining eyes. I felt like I had brought a badminton racquet to a tennis match, shoes to the skating rink, gardening gloves to a boxing match; in other words, I was way out of my league.
I loved it. This woman was intoxicating. I wanted to kiss her, but did she want to kiss me? My mind went to our discussion of philosophy and politics at the bar last night, how she laughed and rested her hand on my arm, letting it linger. She fled soon after, unseen the rest of the night. I didn’t mind then, nor now; I was here for me. Things would happen, or they wouldn’t happen.
Besides, if she was correct, this wouldn’t be anything new.
Her eyes engulfed mine, I could smell the perfume of smoke and alcohol from her lips, and she pulled back before the tasting as our posse exited the bar. Laughing and chatting in different languages, we made quite the group.
“Time to go,” she said, taking up a posting near her friend, pulling ahead of the pack and conversing in rapid German. I gravitated to the other native English speakers, an American and an Australian, having an animated discussion with two other Germans. Where we were going was unclear.
I caught her and her friend looking back at me, continuing to speak; what they said I hadn’t the faintest idea. I tried to control my bemusement.
Through winding, cobblestone streets, through the old town square, past apartments guarded by statues and gargoyles, apartments with more culture and stories in a single room than I would ever experience in a lifetime, we found a small club, hidden up a narrow street, with an empty dance floor and a candle-lit lounge. We laid claim to the largest table and most of the wooden seats available in the cramped area, and all sorts of discussions began.
Her eyes caught mine more than once as people put their stubs into the ashtray, still smoldering. I would grin at her grimace, disdainful eyes meeting amused ones. I would put a few out when I doused my own, which earned the smallest of nods from her.
As the night progressed, more people arrived and progressed to the bar and dance floor, which held more socializers than dancers.
That was to change, however; the unspoken leader of our merry band, a German, declared her desire to dance. Others took up her declaration; a few, locked in deep debate, waved their hands dismissively, but for the rest of us, our fate was sealed.
Or, at least mine was the moment my midnight muse held out a hand. I made a great show of disdain, only partly feigned.
“Not much of a dancer?” she asked, candlelight waltzing in those jade halls of her eyes.
“Not really, no.” I glanced at the rather sparse dance floor. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“Me neither, but too bad.” She held my hand as she led the way, and I followed, heavy steps compensating for my light heart. I resisted the urge to pull her into my arms then and there.
We formed a group and danced, or at least attempted to; the music wasn’t conductive to getting footloose, and my self-consciousness had not drowned in beer yet. “Want a drink?” I leaned towards her and caught her sweet lilac scent.
“Water,” she requested, and I obliged. I refrained from ordering a shot to speed things along; a part of me wanted to be drunk, but a stronger part of me knew I needed to be sharp to keep up with her.
Only three remained from the original eight when I returned. “I’m a trend setter,” I remarked.
“Yeah. Let’s sit.” She gestured to old chairs at the corner of the dance floor where one of our crew sat, browsing on her phone. I nodded my agreement, and we left the remaining two on the dance floor, who scattered. Our friend gave a slight acknowledgement to us.
“You like this kind of music?” I asked her, hoping I wasn’t yelling too much; it was classic club music, electronic, heavy beats.
She shook her head. “No, I prefer pubs or bars, something…” she trailed off.
“Something you can sit and talk over?” I offered.
“Exactly. I mean, clubs are fun, but it’s too much after the food we had.”
“Me neither. I’m also a terrible dancer, so…” That made her smirk.
“Classic white boy dancing.” She made wriggled about in a surprisingly accurate representation of how I imagined I danced. I turned away, hoping my beer would flush the embarrassment etched on my face and inspire a witty retort.
She laughed heartily at my reaction. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m no better.” I disagreed.
“Dancing is not my thing. I’d much rather sit with a beer and talk, or listen to some live music.”
“Live music is the best,” she agreed. Our legs pressed against each other; a conflict raged within me. Dare I make another move? A casual touch, gauging the reaction? The classic yawn and stretch my arm around her?
Perhaps more than ever, the sense of being alone and outnumbered weighed upon me, for our group were her mainly her friends, here for a birthday party. I tagged along from the hostel after they invited me out; I stuck with them after that. Should I make the wrong move, however, I knew I would be ousted, and fast.
Or would I? Misunderstandings happen all the time.
Besides, if she was right, victory or defeat wouldn’t be anything new.
She shifted her leg away from mine.
“It’s a shame we couldn’t find a live band this weekend.” Did lilac always smell this good?
“I know! I was certain we would find something, some local band or… anything.” She sighed. “Next trip to Prague.”
“Hopefully sooner rather than later.” Every fibre of my being resonated with statement.
The rest of the night passed faster than I realized. We talked about many things: our plans after school, music we disliked and loved, the inevitable crumbling of society, and other topics that only deepened my interest in her. We danced, never touching, but always close. We drank, water for her, beer for me.
Three times our faces drew close, but each time something stopped our trajectory into one another: a shove, a friend, a dropped glass. Whatever I saw outside the bar had fled and only a cat-like, predatory gaze remained. Perhaps she scared me. I didn’t think about it.
Throughout all our questioning, I felt that we had both presented ourselves as an artist might carve a statue out of an iceberg: ornate and interesting on the surface to draw attention away from the danger and imperfections below.
Or she did, at least. Had I one evening, one weekend alone with her, every last secret would be drawn from me, I knew; putty in the hands of a sculptor, a mouse as a cat’s play-thing.
We arrived at our hostel around three in the morning. People fled to their rooms; many of them were returning home in the afternoon. I remained on the hostel’s porch, flags of many countries painted on the railing and the wooden tables, with the two English speakers who waited on their friend, a local, to continue the party. We would find the good places, they assured me. Many times.
My temptress came outside after half a cigarette with her friend, dressed for bed. We asked if they wanted to join our escapade, but they declined.
“You’re going out?” she asked me.
I responded without hesitation, I know; but hours seemed to pass. I had a choice. They would leave rather early, and would not wait for me. This would be the last time I saw her.
Should I try my luck? What had I to lose?
I saw her gaze, but the doors leading into those jade halls were closed, guarded by a tiger. Perhaps I missed my opportunity. Her face was friendly, amiable, beautiful. But I knew this woman would cause more heartbreak for me than she would cure. I fled here escaping the haunting of one woman; I should exorcise one before taking another.
“Yeah, I want to see the real Czech nightlife,” I replied.
She nodded, our eyes shoving against each other, struggling to break through the guards erected. They both exclaimed how good it had been to meet us, to stay in touch, come visit, have safe travels, which we echoed. We were the last to embrace; not a moment longer than it needed to be, lilac filling my lungs one last time.
“Good bye,” she said.
“Take care,” I said. She smiled and closed the door. I plunged my cigarette into the ashtray on the table with as much gravity as I could muster. “Shall we?” I offered, and we left, the Czech night beckoning.
She has not become a ghost, as I once feared, but she appears from time to time. An errant cigarette, still smoldering, brings her grimace to mind, and I smile. Sometimes the shortest memories are the fondest.
